QLFC — semi finals — Captain: write a space western

Summary: When Ron "Red" Weasley crashes on an illegal space station, he finds himself mixed up in an illegal smuggling organisation of space dragons.

Note: reintroducing Ronald "Red" Weasley, who made an appearance in my straight up Western. He is now changing gears and becoming a space cowboy. Also, introducing Hermione "Bucktooth" Granger, who appeared, but went unnamed in my Western. FYI, I strongly hate space western. Never heard it, never seen it, never read it, but after this, I hate it. Also, this is more of a space western romance.

Warning: Dark!Harry "Scarhead", for some reason. Was unintentional.

WC. 2827

To Smuggle A Space Dragon

"No!" Ron said, panic rising within him. "No, no, no, don't do this to me! No!" He pressed the flashing red button of his one-person spacecraft again and again, but nothing happened.

A siren sounded from somewhere behind him.

"Warning! Warning! Pressure dropping."

Ron swore loudly.

"Pressure dropping. Preparing for emergency landing."

Immediately, he felt the ship plummet.

Great, he thought. I'm plummeting down with no planet or station in sight and my oxygen levels will be out within the hour.

"Just great."

He pulled some levers, pressed some more buttons, but the ship only picked up speed as it hurtled towards nothing.

"Station located," the woman's robotic voice said to him. "Preparing for emergency landing. Brace for landing."

Ron looked out through the window. There was nothing in his line of sight. His ship's emergency sensors were as broken as the whole damn ship.

"Brace for emergency landing. Impact in ten seconds."

Ron pulled the seatbelt over him, his eyes darting around him. What was going to happen? What would happen when the ship thought it had landed and he was still in space?

He glanced up at the bar above.

"Oxygen levels at ten percent," the robot woman said.

"Shut up!" Ron shouted. "Shut up!"

He gripped the wheel, his knuckles turning white.

"Impact in five seconds… four… three… two…"

Ron shut his eyes.

"One."

The ship shuddered. It flipped upside down, and then jerked to the left.

Ron's eyes flew open. He'd entered a weak atmosphere. He could see it.

"What the —?"

And then he hit something. Ground, seemingly.

"Emergency landing complete."

"Thanks!" Ron said bitterly, his hands loosening on the wheel slightly. Smoke poured from the front of his ship.

Well, he was alive, but he couldn't get back to Earth. That was great.

"Evacuate from vehicle. Pressure rising. Evacuate now."

Ron scrambled for the belt, unclipping it. He pushed at the door, but it had been dented in upon the crash impact.

"Evacuate now. Pressure rising."

"Shut up!" Ron roared, aiming his legs at the door. It flew open and Ron scrambled out just as the whole ship… did nothing. Smoke continued to come out of it, but wherever he'd landed didn't have the capacity to cause fire.

Well, that was something at least.

He looked around. It was a space station of some kind — a small one that could have housed no more than three people.

But it wasn't one that he recognised, which was strange. Ron at least knew of ninety-five percent of the space stations in the local galaxy. And he'd been to the other five percent.

This was… an illegal one.

"Name yourself."

Ron spun, drawing his own gun from within the holster. He aimed it at the voice but didn't pull the trigger. It was a woman, roughly his own age.

He hesitated.

"Ro — er, Red — Weasley."

Now the woman hesitated. She lowered her weapon.

"The famous outlaw?" she asked.

Ron winced. He hated that title. Outlaws were a career choice. His was because… well… he'd made some mistakes.

"The one and only." He shrugged. "And you are?"

"You can call me Bucktooth."

Ron glanced back at his ship. "So, if you're not going to kill me, can you maybe help me with my ship? What is this place, by the way? An illegal space station?"

"A smuggling space station," Bucktooth said, and she smiled. Ron saw where she got her name from.

"Oh." This just kept getting better. There he was, trying to clear his name, and he had to land on one of the worst places possible. Smugglers were the bane of the galaxies' existences. "What do you smuggle, then?"

"Space dragons."

"Excuse me?"

"Space dragons," Bucktooth repeated. "And we don't really smuggle them, we rescue them from their slavery to humankind in space. Since humans discovered space travel, they've been kept in captivity, doing the bidding of the overlords. They deserve to be free."

Ron didn't think that was true, but he didn't say anything. For now, this woman had chosen not to kill him.

"Right. Well, if you can help me in any way — a spare ship would be great — I'll be on my way. And as my thanks, I won't tell anyone about this place. You can go on rescuing your beloved space dragons."

Bucktooth smiled again, and she was oddly rather… pretty… despite her overly large front teeth.

"I don't have a ship to spare, sorry. But I might have some parts to help fix yours."

"Er, thanks," Ron said.

"Come in," she added, nodding towards the entrance of the building. "I think you're pretty harmless, Red."

"I won't kill you," Ron assured her.

"Nor I, you."

…

The inside of the space station was like any other one he'd seen. The walls were plain — bland — and the rooms consisted of various technologies, spaceships, and other gadgets. The only thing different about this one was that there was an extra room lined with cages, one even occupied.

Ron stopped as Bucktooth led him through the room. He'd never seen a space dragon up close, and he had to admit, he hoped to never again. Not only did they reek of charred skin, but they were also hideous creatures with three large, bulging eyes, four horns on top of its head and a long tail with spikes running all along it.

"I thought you were into rescuing them," Ron commented. "This one looks poorly."

"It's sick," Bucktooth said, not stopping. "Char and Newt will come soon and tend to it, then they'll take it to the sanctuary."

"Ch-Char?" Ron stammered.

Bucktooth turned to face him. "You know him?"

"He's my brother."

"Huh," Bucktooth said. "I thought you looked familiar." And she continued through the caged room and into one that was… homely.

This was where she lived, and it reminded Ron a lot of his home on Earth. He hadn't been back there since he was eleven.

"Funny he never mentioned you, but I'm not surprised. I wouldn't go shouting from the rooftops that my brother was on of the top three most wanted outlaws in three galaxies." She sat on a stool by what appeared as a very normal-looking kitchen. "Did you really kill all of those free settlers?" she then asked suddenly.

"No," Ron said. "I was framed."

"By who?"

Ron hesitated. He'd never told anyone this before. No one would believe him even if he'd tried. But this Bucktooth, she seemed different. She seemed willing to hear the truth.

"Scarhead."

"No!" Bucktooth said.

"Yeah."

"But —"

"Yeah, he's not as heroic as he seems. A bit messed up in the head, if you ask me."

Bucktooth watched him for a moment, frowning. Then something seemed to dawn on her, and her eyes widened. "Red."

"That's me."

"You were his friend."

"Was, not anymore, yeah. Friendships change when one kills a whole bunch of innocent people for no apparent reason, then tries to blame the other for it. I've been on the run ever since."

"You were the first outlaws to do good since humans discovered space travel," Bucktooth said. "Scarhead… he's… revered. He can't be… he's not…"

"He's an arse," Ron said. He looked around her kitchen. "Listen… about that help… I really should be on my way…"

…

Time meant little in space, but Ron suspected he stayed with Bucktooth for at least two weeks. In that time, he'd come to learn that she was a highly intelligent woman who'd come here two Earth years prior. She'd been smuggling space dragons for the past year, with the help of Ron's brother, Char, and another man called Newt.

She was passionate about the protection of space creatures as much as she was about the protection of Earth's creatures as well. To her, all sentient life was worth freeing.

Despite their initial hostile meeting, neither had drawn their lasers on one another since. In fact, being here was the most comfortable Ron had felt in the three years he'd been flying between stations and planets and galaxies in an attempt to escape the Galactic Authority.

She had an abundance of food, spare rooms, comfortable beds, and most of all, she seemed genuinely pleased to have him there. Things got lonely on a smuggling station, people flying in and out once every few months.

She seemed pleased to have him.

But eventually, Ron did have to push her to find out what was happening with his ship. Everytime he tried to bring it up, all she said was, "I don't have anything to fix it, and I don't have any ship to spare."

"When're, er, your smuggling friends coming?" he asked her one day.

"You mean your brother?"

Ron nodded.

"I don't know. They come when they come."

"He knows my ship, he'll — he doesn't know I'm innocent."

Bucktooth frowned, her mind doing that thing that Ron had come to learn was her concocting a plan. She was quite the genius of a woman, and he knew she would have a million options for him to get off the station — she just didn't seem to want to.

"But… he's your brother. Surely, once he sees you…"

"I don't want to take that risk."

"He's a smuggler," Bucktooth reasoned. "It's not as if he's a law-abiding citizen of the universe. Turning you in means he risks himself, this station, the sanctuary…"

Ron looked at her, studying her, and then he smiled. He hadn't smiled in years. He'd had nothing to smile about.

"Why do you always think of things that I don't?" he said.

"It's why I'm leading this smuggling scheme and you're an outlaw on the run from the universe."

Ron's smile widened. "I guess I'm staying just a little bit longer."

…

Space dragons were gentle creatures. They were hideous — that would never change — but Bucktooth taught him how to care for the sick one, and to his surprise, he came to care for the poor thing.

As they treated it together, she told him all about the mistreatment of them since humans had come into space. How they'd enslaved them, used them as transport or courier services between planets.

They could travel in space without oxygen or an atmosphere, and were of course seen as the easiest option for the degrading jobs humans considered themselves above doing.

She was so knowledgeable about them and other things, and she'd been up here for less time than he had.

Ron found himself being… drawn to her. They'd formed a friendship during their time together, his heart beat just a little bit faster when she looked at him, and almost… almost… he thought he didn't want to leave.

"We've known each other for a while now…"

"I'd say a month in Earth time," she said, sitting on the ground by the cage. The dragon moved its snout to the bars, and she began stroking it absently.

"Yeah… you've not told me your Earth name yet."

"Neither have you," she said, smiling. "For someone who's renowned across multiple galaxies, it's amazing no one has revealed it yet."

"Ron," Ron said without thinking. He sat on the cold stone ground opposite her. "Ronald, if you'd like."

She smiled at him, but didn't say anything. She continued to pet the dragon.

"This is usually the place where you reveal yours…" he prompted. "Bucktooth… it's a little degrading, isn't it?"

"It's the name your brother gave to me. It's all I've been known by up here."

"My brother is better with animals than people," Ron told her.

She laughed.

"It's… Hermione."

"Hermione." Ron liked the way it sounded on his lips.

And, it seemed, so did she. She stopped stroking the dragon's snout and gazed into his eyes with such intensity, it was all Ron could do to not look away.

"I've… never really had anyone take an interest in me before. And I don't just mean up here. You're right, your brother is more interested in the creatures than talking to me. And Newt… well, he's not much better, though I think he's not had much interaction with… people. You're different… Ron."

"Huh, yeah, that's me." Was it just him, or had she inched closer to him along the ground?

"I couldn't imagine what it would feel like to have a friend betray you like that," Hermione said.

Ron looked away. Even after all this time, the mention of the betrayal still stung. It probably wouldn't hurt as much had Scarhead — Harry — not set him up.

"Red…"

"Ron."

She looked at him for a moment, and then reached out her hand and placed it over his. "Ron…" Her smile widened, and he couldn't help but return it. He squeezed her hand back.

…

"If we don't get it to the sanctuary soon, it'll die."

They were looking into the cage of the space dragon. It was becoming sicker by the day. Every time Hermione took Ron to treat it, it looked closer to death.

Ron had never expected to feel pity for such a hideous creature, but he did.

"When's… when are they meant to be getting here?" He'd asked that every time, and the answer had always been the same.

"There is never a set time. They just show up when they can." A tear trickled down her face as she reached forward to stroke the creature's nose.

Ron watched her, feeling something in his chest tighten. He'd never known anyone to care so much about… anything.

He reached out his hand to take hers, but his fingers had barely brushed against her when she stepped closer to him, her free hand brushing against his cheek and kissing him.

When she pulled away, she looked up at him, tears now rolling freely down her face. She gave him a sad smile.

"One has never been so sick before," she sniffed. "I… I don't know what to do."

Despite himself, Ron kissed her back. He liked the feel of her lips against his. "We'll figure it out," he promised.

…

Ron flicked the button on the ship, the roar of the engine sending chills through him. He had been on the station for what was probably months, the only sounds were the sickly whines of the dragon and the comfortable silence that had befallen him and Hermione.

He had missed the sound of a ship.

"You'll be free soon," Hermione whispered, and Ron turned his head to look behind him. Hermione had her face pressed to the bars of the cage on the back of the spaceship. "Just one more short journey."

She looked over to Ron and gave him a tearful smile. "I'll miss you," she said.

"I'll come back," he assured her. "After all, I've got to return this ship. You have none to spare, remember?"

She laughed, tears trickling from her eyes.

"I'll get it to the sanctuary," he promised.

She nodded.

"I'm ready to go."

She nodded again and took a step back from the cage. Almost as an afterthought, she came to him and kissed him — longer and more loving than the last time, or any of the other times.

"Please come back," she said. "It gets lonely here. I've… enjoyed your company."

Ron nodded, afraid if he spoke he'd say something stupid. How could it be that after so long in space, so many years away from Earth, he could come here and feel all the Earthly comforts that he'd missed? Space had no time for romance. Yet here… it wasn't space.

She stepped back from the ship again and smiled.

Ron prepared it for take-off. He had the coordinates for the sanctuary. He'd have to space jump twice, which was something he'd never done before. Once was disturbing enough. But the ship was built for it. He could do it.

"Take off in ten seconds."

It was a much more pleasant voice than his broken ship.

"Take off in five seconds. Four… three… two… one…"

He felt it lurch up. The dragon whined in the back. Hermione sobbed.

"Exiting atmosphere. Preparing oxygen."

They rose higher, darkness consuming them. Stars were alight all around him. He liked stars. He'd missed being up with the stars.

The vents providing the oxygen opened.

Ron breathed in.

He was back where he'd spent the most of his last three years. Flying into darkness, speeding past the planets and stars…

It was home.

Almost.

Maybe home was somewhere else now.

"First jump in three minutes. Entering cruise control now. You are travelling in open space."

Ron let go of the wheel, leaning back in the seat, for the first time in so long feeling content. Space didn't seem as lonely when he had somewhere (or someone) to return to.

He no longer felt like a man on the run, but a man on a mission; a good mission.

Thank you to my team for beta-ing this. I... cannot space western, so I apologise. Sorry, my dear judge.